forgetting reason
by Taes
Summary: When a poor street vendor, Naruto, barges into Sasuke's life, the storeclerk is forced to abandon his monotonous lifestyle and face the dark. Complete. AU. Sasunaru OR Narusasu. Shounen ai. Cursing and mature themes...Major EDIT.


**Warnings**: lots of cursing, implied **adult themes**, cynicism, Sasuke PoV, AU, American setting…Eventual SasuNaru/NaruSasu (…), implied SasuSaku, Uchihacest, _in the past. _

**Disclaimer:** something tells me that I'm a bit different from a manga artist named Kishimoto in the fact that I could care less about fighting/ninja _world_ complications…i.e. don't own it, no profit

**

* * *

EDIT: **_Wednesday, August 31, 2005._

Some minor editing in word choice, syntax, etc.

It's really, really important for you to **reread Sasuke's poem** at the end; I rewrote it in a very significant manner. I borrowed the concept of a sestina...**pay attention **if you don't know what that means.

In a sestina, you have six end words, six stanzas. I have ten end words(smile, 'morrow, while, sorrow, die, mother, my, eye, truer, brother) and ten stanzas.  
One of these end words are at the end of every line, but the order they appear in changes with each stanza (that's a "paragraph" in poem language, by the way). Order becomes rather significant in a sestina, and similarly, in my modified version.  
In the new thing, there is a "break" after the third stanza, the sixth stanza, and the eighth stanza (because I felt it sectioned the poem rather nicely, and gives the reader a nice break). After the tenth stanza, the lines are cut to five (instead of ten) and two end words are in one line. The stanza after that has two lines, with five end words in it, and the next has the first and last end words (smile, brother) only. The last stanza has only the first end word

So, yeah, hopefully that helped.

It took me a long time to decide whether I wanted the "fixed" poem or the free verse...you may prefer one to the other, but I've decided (after a lot of internal debate) that the fixed version works better, all in all...

To **view the original poem**, retype the caps letters with the appropriate symbols:

http COLON SLASH SLASH www DOT deviantart DOT com SLASH deviation SLASH 21797741 SLASH

**Original Publish date: **Monday, August 15, 2005.

**

* * *

Title**: forgetting reason  
**Author:** : Taes  
**Words:** : 8, 377 (about 25 pages on word)  
**Status:** Completed edited short story.  
**Notables:** Sasuke's PoV, not really angsty. It's completely different from _Ai _and "My Sasuke" in that respect…just beware of the end. It gets …emotional… Also. It's been raining a lot, around me…

_forgetting reason_  
………………..by Taes

"God, I just saw this fucking cute hunk of _bah-day!" _her voice was a squeak in my ear, a bubble-gum flavor of _noise. _I felt my lips turn downward in an unintended scowl.

Kids. They're _all _annoying.

"Oh. M'_gawd_. He's looking a'me." She hissed into a phone barely the size of her hand. "What should I do?"

I rolled my eyes skyward. Teenagers, it occurred to me, really don't know how to go about first impressions. Then I realized her gaze was directed at me. I scoffed quietly, and pulled my jacket around the loose white shirt—a 'blouse' that frames my 'sculpted frame' like I'm an 'Asian god,' as my female coworkers cheekily tell me.

'_Or, Sasuke-dear's just a rich lady's porn dream,'_ our manger would chime.

Strange, really. He's usually a strict guy, but pretty laid back on breaks—and perverted as hell when a favorable subject comes up. One'd guess he was about my age, with his badly mismatched eyes—eyes that scream _'contacts,' _but never change—under faintly mirrored sunglasses. Gray hair, well-kept frame, he doesn't _look _to be thirty.

Doesn't _act _it, either, unless he's on the job...

I am looking at the girl in a dress that matches the color of her voice—bubble-gum—and I see she's wearing a dark denim jacket that comes from the 'designer stores' that sell cheap clothes with long names...names that make up for the lack of fabric and reason—it's just an extra penny from an _in _consumer.

She looks like a kid.

She smiles at me, and I hear her phone click as it closes. Off. _You getting serious, girl? _I have to wonder.

It's not a surprise when she steps in front of me, trying to stop me with a dainty, golden-brown hand. "Hey," she greets. I bet she thinks her voice is _sexy. _Thinks it's so_phi_sticated with that low, cat-like murmur. She's all new, though. Sounds like she lacks resolve. Sounds too much like a poster-girl and not at all like a world-driven woman.

I meet her gaze and let my lips curl downwards. She stumbles for a second, and I walk right by. My pace is steady despite the morning traffic.

She huffs a little at my lack of interest, and she takes a few angry, decisive steps forward. "I was _talk_ing to you!" she charged.

Amused, I look back at her cutely scowling face. She's not beautiful. Not by a long shot. But not ugly, either. She's _pleasant_.

Most girls are.

Nevertheless, she irritates the hell out of me. "I noticed." I call. A flash of an _Uchiha _smile, and I look forward again. Behind me, Bubble-Gum sighs girlishly. I hear her cell pone click open, and I realize that she'd never hung up on her friend.

It's probably why she had the nerve to call out in the first place. The reason _why_ she didn't let her greeting fall flat when I didn't return it.

"...he's such a hottie..." but I'm already gone. The noise of traffic, the dull murmur of voices around us, it's not possible to keep up with a single voice. So I'm back to my own thoughts, vaguely listening for something that might come in handy.

The walk to the department store's not too bad. Gives me a chance to clear my head from the subway, from the bike ride _to _that underground train. All in all, I'm traveling for an hour and a half, but who the hell cares when it saves money on insurance, gas, auto-payments, and god knows what else?

It occurs to me that most of my coworkers could stand the exercise. _And _the world could benefit from less pollution.

That, and if I hadn't _walked, _I wouldn't have the time to hear the news, wouldn't be able to feel the pulse of people moving around me. Sakura tells me that me _wanting _to be around them is a good sign; she says that it means that I want to feel some kind of connection with them, but that's just _Sakura. _Ever optimistic, ever sentimental. It's just a _thing, _with no meaning beneath it.

So I'm listening vaguely to the fools around me as I walk, uncomfortably warm with my jacket on. It'd be too bothersome to attract any _more _attention, after Bubble-Gum. I feel too conspicuous.

I walk down the sidewalk with my hands in my pockets. My head's down. I doubt anyone's paying attention to me now.

"Get yer pap'rs here, folks!" the voice is bright as gold to my ears. I twitch at the noise, and almost look at the kid yelling. "Tabloids, _The Star, World Times. _Magazines, _Time, Newsweek, _we've got it all! Stop by and take a look, will ya?" my eyes betray me, and a smiling face swirls into focus. Blond-gold hair under a floppy hat, bright blue eyes, an even tan despite the cloudy summer. Crooked smile, soft features and a _knowing _look that caught me by surprise.

A true salesman, he whirls in on me in an instant. "Hey there, sir," he bobs a little, even tips his hat. A smile tugs at my lips, but I scoff instead. The idiot's just putting on a show. "You wanna buy a magazine?" any hint of courtesy drops after an instant, and his laughing eyes beg an answer.

"No." I reply, and start off.

He catches my arm with a cheerful grin and unruffled laughter. "Oh?" he pulls me closer, and I become conscious of strong, faintly outlined muscles beneath the ridiculous outfit. "You want some_ real _entertainment, eh?" his eyes won't stop laughing, "Well, I'm just the guy to get it for you!" his foot flips open a plastic door, and with dirty shoes he pushes a magazine off a stack, kicks it up, and _snatches _the pamphlet with one hand.

It's shoved in my face before I can see what it is, but the kid's already talking again.

"_That's _entertainment enough for ya, right?" his eyes danced with mirth.

I managed to back up a step or two, and the pictures in the open magazine came into focus.

Two men, both half-dressed, groped at each other in an unexpected portrayal of a drug-frisk.

I sputtered. "Excuse me, I didn't say that I want your—"

His grin filled my vision. "What, isn't this yer type?" he laughed quietly, and dropped the magazine—kicked it behind the plastic door and shut it with a snap. "I figured you for a, you know," he made a fluttering gesture with one hand while the other tugged self-consciously at a stray lock of hair.

My eyes were cold, I could tell, and he glanced nervously up at me for a second before laughing uproariously.

"Well, most doors swing _both _ways, you know?" he sniggered, and ducked under his little booth to open another barely-visible door. "How's _this _for your standards, huh?"

But I was already gone, walking down the street.

So much for clearing my head.

* * *

I leaned against the beaten old couch, too tired to get my drink from the fridge. I glanced at my pants, trying to gauge whether or not I had my cigarettes with me. Immediately, I realized that my slacks weren't nearly as pristine as they usually are. Meaning I'd forgotten to iron them...again. 

_Screw it all_...I thought. I shoved my hand in my pocket, fumbled around for the lighter, and blindly reached for my cigarette box. _Shit...why'd I have to leave it on the table...? _My eyes soon confirmed the position. I heaved a sigh.

My fingers itched for something to hold, my body craved the feel of thick, smooth smoke to soothe frazzled nerves. My lips twisted into a grim smile.

I'd seen a fifteen-year-old—maybe sixteen—kid chatting on her cell phone, puffing away like the old housewives do, on my way to work. She was stopped at a light. Me, I was on the sidewalk, jacket slung over my shoulder, trying to simultaneously straighten tie and shirt. Couldn't help but wonder...do I look that stupid, with my mouth slightly open? Always yielding to a thin cylinder of paper filled with old leaves and shit I wouldn't care to think of.

It sure catches us...a cigarette's predictable mystery and consoling ease. It's _only _ a few dollars a pack...like sodas...It's only something to do with your hands.

Your lips.

But I'm tired now, and I don't want to move three feet to get the things. Nevertheless, my hands itch for it, my mouth yearns for it...my eyes stray _that _way.

I've never thought about quitting. Seriously. It's easy to ignore Sakura—my old girlfriend from high school—when she rants about every smoker's suicide wish. Right. Suicide. Only the weak would resign to that sort of escape.

Me?

I'll just take the habit.

Eventually, I'll get up and get the damn pack...'till then...

Not a moment passes, and a smell drifts into my consciousness. The faint odor of tires, smog and paper. A memory's triggered. That pervert. All I can think of is his crooked smile, tousled hair...Good god, what kinda street-vendor _wants _to look like some paperboy from the turn of the century?

My mind wanders.

Minutes tick by, and finally, I give.

I lunge for the little box—white and black—to dispel an image of his knowing wink.

_Fuck you, asshole..._

* * *

When my feet get tired, and my lungs ache too much, it's time to take a break. 

Despite the rain, or maybe because of it, I wanted to go outside not even an hour after my previous lapse in work. It smelled heavily of rain, dust and some amount of mold. The best of the air was damp and smoggy, but that didn't stop me from staying out of doors. Walls _all around _gets suffocating after a bit.

So I lean against the wall in my little alcove, one foot resting on the railing across from me and the dumpster, and one firmly on the ground. Occasionally, a drop of water will fall from the roof, and my eyes will follow the path.

"Kids." The voice caught me by surprise. Cigarette between two lips, I almost bit through the fine paper. "Fuck 'em all…" the voice trailed off. "Always starting a habit they can't stop."

I almost choked on my cigarette.

_That voice…_

"So, ya sure I can't sell you a magazine or two…?" leaning against the stone wall, hand pressed lightly against the jagged surface. Blond, messy hair, piercing blue eyes. _Him _again.

I straightened, and towered over the boy. "Don't you have a booth to guard?" I asked quietly. My coworkers have told me that when I'm angry, my voice is '_sexy as hell; smooth and_ silky_ as smoke_.' I have to wonder if that's what this guy thinks.

But he just laughs at me. "Nah, they only lemme do that part time, buddy. They say I'm only good for early mornings—annoying enough to wake 'em up, but not clever enough to sell 'em at lunch or later." He laughed ruefully, and pulled his hat off his head. His hands twirled it around like a little top, and my eyes followed the movement. He tilts his head thoughtfully, and murmurs, "They pro'lly only let me work then 'cause they don't wanna get _up, _the fuckers..."

I growled quietly, but he doesn't seem to notice. "So if you're _off, _why are you trying to sell me something?"

The wind blew restlessly, and I found myself wanting my jacket.

The kid grinned. "Well," his eyes twinkled, "It occurred to me that it might be a good conversation starter." He laughed at my dubious expression, and continued. "That, and I thought it'd annoy the _hell _outta ya, and I wanted ta see wha'cha'd do."

I rolled my eyes, dropped the cigarette, and absently ground it into the cement. "Yeah?" I asked, quiet still. I retrieved another from the pack and lit it with one easy motion.

Even though I see him blink with surprise, he just laughs again, and I feel color rising in my cheeks. He's more of a _kid _than I am, the scrawny little—

"How come's a guy like _you _workin' at this dingy little place?" his words are honestly curious, but something tells me he's asking more from boredom than a true desire to know.

I scoff. "What's it to you?" a raindrop falls, but I pay it no mind.

"I'da put ya as a company man, myself. Retail? You must _suck _at customer services."

My eyes narrowed, and the smile that had been growing until that moment fell. "What gives you—"

"_Most _people reply to questions, f'r 'xample, and _most _people _like _porn."

I sputter, and he laughs some more. "What do your perverted magazines have to do with—"

"I mean, fashionable clothes I can get, but this place? It's just a _dressy _place with no cool clothes, no good music or _nothin', _and a sharp kid like you's workin' here?" he shook his head. "It's a waste." The wind starts to pick up, chilling the air more than before.

I glare at him, but he doesn't seem to notice. He just keeps twirling that _fucking _hat of his. "Who are _you _to decide what's good for me?"

He winks, and I think I see a hint of real mirth, not slap-stick humor. He's getting a kick out of me. "I mean, you _gotta_ be some rich little brat, right? I just can't figure why you'd be _here _and not someplace with a little, you know, _class _and repu_ta_tion."

Suddenly I've got the urge to blow smoke in his face. With a smile that stretches unnaturally, I do so, and he sputters. "Listen, kid—"

But it isn't long before he recovers, and he coughed lightly before interrupting. "Naruto. My name's Naruto."

I shot a glare at him. "Yeah. Whatever." This _Na_ruto, I don't much care for him, but he won't send me back in _that _hell hole so easily.

Finally, I take in the rain. It must have started a minute ago, it's so thick and heavy now. The sound of it falls above us, on the little alcove that offers precious little shelter from the long, cold streaks of water. Hat donning Naruto wrinkles his nose as thunder fills the sky with its brilliant rumble. The kid squeaks a little.

"Fuck the weather, too…do cities _ever _get clean, nice days?" his voice lowers, and the smell of rain seems to fill him up with doubt. His shoulders sag, and his eyes darken.

"Not from around here, are you?" I find myself asking, and inwardly I wince. I shouldn't prolong conversations with trash like him. After all, what would my manager think?

His laughter is rough as lightning, and mine is smooth and light…except for the brief clash that comes like uneven rain. I'm getting wet, but I don't really notice. It won't fully occur to me until I'm indoors, getting warm, and my clothing starts to stick to damp skin. For now, it feels cool—good—on my too-warm feet and arms. I find myself thinking, _it's been a long time…since I've been _this _kind of cold. _

Even this crappy drizzle of water causes a change in temperature.

Naruto, I noticed, was rubbing busily at his arm. Like a kid, he had numerous notes written just under his wrist—notes that sprawl around the surface like a half-drawn bracelet…He curses quietly, and I repeat my question…

"Jackass. Where're you from?"

He doesn't look at me, so I can clearly see the irritation in his eyes at That question. I get the feeling he's asked it a lot. "Nowhere. Why, ya _curious, _Prissy Whore?" his grin returns, a little lopsided, and he pulls his cap down to block the rain. I didn't notice when he put it back on.

I see there are splotches and streaks of gray-blue all around his forearm—the sleeves were pulled up to avoid stains—and I wonder what kind of ink he could have used that'd blur so much. Then I wonder why I care.

"So what if I am?" I scoff, and as I flick away my cigarette, he snatches my hand. His unoccupied fingers fly towards his hat, and he easily pulls a pen from behind one ear.

He's a card, this Naruto…to be certain.

The pen, I see, isn't meant as an instrument of pointing or indicating. It's for me, writing a quick _sprawl _of a message that's barely legible. His mouth forms the words—like he's a fucking elementary student—and I jerk my arm away just as he's pulling up his pen. The ink trails down my wrist to stop at the beginning of my palm.

I'm wet, I realize, and cold. I frown.

"The ink on your arm…" Naruto says. "When it smears up? It looks the same as when someone's crying…the lopsided grin's gone. He's just looking at me now, and I shift uncomfortably.

"Idiot. Nobody cries that much…" the streaks were too many to read the upside down words by then. I remember the cold, and once again wish for my jacket. The wet shirt surely clings more than a blazer would.

Laughter again. "No shit, fuckass." Juvenile. Profane, juvenile curses _only. _He continued in a more thoughtful tone. "Ya must'a cried a lot, then, to realize that…" Piercing blue eyes pin me there, and I start.

I rub at the smearing pen-marks, and it dawns on me. He _hadn't _used a ball-point, after all. The wide streaks and thin connections could only be made with a brush. A Chinese—_fuck, _Japanese—calligraphy pen. And a know-nothing like _Naruto _had one, on hand, when I barely use mine. Locked in a cupboard, safe and dry. My grandmother would be pleased…she always insisted that only _gifted _calligraphers should bother with the Art. Geniuses like Itachi. Fools were better left to watch, and marvel.

Like me.

My mother always encouraged me, though…she's always been too soft…always _was _too soft. She used to say, '_everyone is an artist, mother…even the _rain_ has a hand with which to draw. And like the rain, we can dabble in any art we wish._

_Right, Sasuke?'_

I begin to comprehend the situation as it truly is, and I know now that this particular fool had gotten under my skin. He'd gotten me to think of faces that'd barely registered a week before—the anniversary—from old photo albums. I snarl. "Who the fuck are you to know _any_thing about me!" my voice is loud. Uneven as his thunderous roar.

I'm _not _like the rain. Not like my dainty mother or her genius son.

Naruto only returns my irregular reply with raucous laughter, and I fight the urge to throttle him. My dead cigarette is still clutched between two fingers, and I throw it at him. The ash catches him by surprise, but there isn't much of a spark…not in _this _weather. He yelps anyways, and runs into the metal railing that bars the ramp. Dozens of raindrops fall, and the seat of his pants are soaked. I laugh, and he glowers. Icy blue orbs now, his damned eyes.

I gesture toward the door, and his eyes flicker across the red and white sign. _Employees only. _"If you'd like to buy something, come on in through the front." He knows as well as I do that that's a good half-block around the department store. His smile fell, and icy eyes turned smoky with anger. "But we won't accept loitering, or hick-gawking."

"Fuck you, bastard—"

But my cold feet are telling me that my break's up, and I've turned the knob by then.

"—listen to—"

Through the door.

"—me for a—"

Closed.

Done and _done _with that.

* * *

I leave work later than I'd intended upon. Cassie, one of the night shift, was late again. As a college student—and being a year younger than me—she thought _'class let out later than expected'_ was a good excuse. And it might have been, except for the smell of smoke and light beer that radiated off her. 

Kakashi, despite being the perverted manager that he was, had been discretely looking for new blood to keep hours going.

So it was six thirty before I was off, and after a menacing stare gifted to my errant coworker, I left, urgent as ever to catch the next bus to the subway. No time for walking, today, if I wanted to get home before eleven. But the closest bus stop, I found, was deserted. Not another bus 'till seven fifteen—the height of dinner rush. By that time, it'd be faster to _walk._

With every step, I silently cursed Cassie and her midday drinking. People, I know, go out of there way to put me in a bad mood.

The rain that'd followed me all _day _reaffirmed its presence within minutes of my hurried walk. And I don't have an umbrella—with any kind of winds, the flimsy things are useless. So my walking slows to an indifferent crawl. I'm going to be wet _any_ways, so there's no need to hurry…none at all…

I'm drenched within minutes and even my hair carries full _streams _of water to the street.

_Fuck the weather, indeed…_

"Oi!" a voice behind me bellows, and I look back. The long-limbed figure behind me's holding a magazine over his head, and I easily place the bedraggled kid as the brat from before.

Naruto, wasn't it?

He catches up to me in what feels like a blink of an eye, and his cold hand snatches mine, again. He pulls me along at a break-neck run, saying something I can only catch half of.

"—a store, jackass—" my eyes narrow. "—flooding and shit—" my mind whirls. "—delays all over…" so he continues like that, and I gather there's a bad storm brewing. My lips twitch. A bad storm that we're running around in.

The message—his message—on my arm must be completely gone, now. Pity. I hadn't gotten a chance to read it.

Finally, we turn just as the shower picks up pace, and Naruto's yelling something ahead of him, now. We flew up a loading dock—the entrances to this particular building is a good deal away…all of them are. I know this, because I chose my evening route _based _on that fact.

In the mornings, I'll take 36th street, and in the evenings, I'll take Stuart…I don't want to deal with any more people by the end of the day. I want silence, so I walk where there are never many people, or traffic. The mornings are fine to hear news from my neighbors…it's good to listen in, then. But evening chatter is full of personal gossip or plans, not information.

Naruto's pounding on the door now, shouting something indistinct. I put a hand on his shoulder—and suddenly his hat's almost pushing into my eyes—to try and tell him, _give it up. No one's going to come._

It was ridiculous for him to even expect someone to get us out of the downpour, but here we were—_away _from the subway—standing at a back entrance to a mall, waiting to be let in. Preposterous.

But miraculously, the door opens. And an earnest, slightly anxious face appears in the crack.

Naruto raises a dripping hand to tip his hat. "Yo." He greets, and the tight expression softens as the door is spread wide.

"Come on, then, in with ya!" the voice, with its round face and warm eyes…it all speaks of a motherly temperament, to me. Nothing like my bird-like, beautiful mother. "Before the rain gets in, now!"

We shuffle inside with a quiet '_thanks' _from Naruto and a nod from me.

"God, Naruto, I thought we got you in already! Weren't you treating _Sher _to coffee earlier?"

So he has friends, after all. I glance at the blond for a minute.

He's laughing, and trying to shake his hat dry. With the motherly girl's help, he eases out of the vest and gingerly puts it on a hanger to dry before meeting my gaze. He holds out his hand and widens that crooked grin.

"I was helping out a stray," he confides with a wink. His words aren't directed at her, even though he answers her unspoken question. "Figure'd he'd catch pneumonia, walkin' about ou' there…"

His friend shakes her head and eyes me with exasperation. This kid, I realize, must be in high school…she's certainly a year or two younger than Naruto is. I watch her mouth as she speaks, and wonder if she brushes her teeth at all. "Well, off with your coat." She snaps, and my blazer's off and on a hanger before I can protest. "You can get it back once the storm's over…" so with that untrustworthy note, she scampers back a few feet where a less-than pristine couch lay in its faded glory.

Naruto whistled, and ran over, his hand dangling the wet, tearing magazine. "Here, I looked at this earlier." He grinned. "Why don'cha leave it in the break room for your coworkers ta enjoy an' make mischief over?"

I glance at the girl, who laughs, and Naruto runs back with a satisfied smile lighting his face.

The room we're in must be the storage area, but Naruto calmly pulls my hand again—the same one as always, the one with the faint traces of ink, and we're off. Again.

Naruto drags me through a maze of boxes and bundles, and picks up a conversation I believe he wanted to start earlier. "Some people are good enough to let poor, wet people in…even through an _employees only _entrance." His smirk was triumphant in the dim light.

I didn't say anything, for a while. Finally, we reached the clothing store, and after that, the great hallway that leads to other shops in the mall. Shopping center. Whatever the hell it is.

"You owe me coffee," Naruto shouts back tome. I wince. There may be a low roar of voices, but it's not too loud to hear the guy in front of me…

I snort, and wonder if he's trying to earn back what he bought for the mysterious Sher. "I owe you _nothing, _asshole…" but I follow him anyways. Coffee doesn't seem like a bad idea, when you're cold and wet…

So that's how I wound up sitting at a little table-- barely two feet in diameter—across from the kid who'd tried to sell me porn earlier.

Gay porn, at that.

I'd wound up buying him some intoxicatingly sweet brew he'd said was _'white mocha'_ with straight, black coffee for me. I think he poured some of his foul brew in mine, because it tasted too sweet for my preferences. This alone had me drinking less quickly, and unoccupied mouths tend to _run _in coffee shops. Mine included.

The blond picks up his cup and starts drinking. "So wha's yer name?" Naruto asks after he's surely drained the entire thing. He sighs with satisfaction, and I wonder how he could guzzle the hot liquid and then eye a passing couple's steaming cinnamon rolls. He seemed more interested in food than my conversation, but I felt the need to reply.

"Sasuke." I pause. "My name's Uchiha Sasuke…" I sipped the sweetened beverage in my hand.

His laughter took me by surprise. "Fuck, you say it like they do in a James Bond movie…so what's your _name, _ass?"

I'm scowling now. "Whore." He laughs outright. "My given name's Sasuke. _Family _name's Uchiha." He quirks a strange little smile, and I find myself explaining before I can decide not to. "I'm just _saying _it like you're supposed to—like Japanese people do."

Naruto stares with laughing blue eyes. I want to hit him. Badly. "No shit. Ya know, I'm part Japanese…Uzumaki Naruto's my full name." he grins. "But like an _American _I usually say it's Naruto Uzumaki." He laughs cheerfully, and says, _"God, _when I was little, kid's'd mutilate my name by sayin' stuff like Na**RU**toe Oooze-monkey…it drove me _nuts. _So for the longest while, I just told people to call me _Blue." _His shoulders shook with his chuckles. "But then I'd got people callin' me _Red, _Gold or _White _instead, 'cause of whatever 'funny' reason they could come up with…it was still better 'n _ooze-monkey, _though…" he eyed a passing student—their arms were laden with a dripping textbook and a tray of warm cookies. "You hungry?"

I snorted. "You?"

He grinned in reply.

"Right, then." I sighed, and wished he could calm his raging stomach. We stood up, him with his hands tucked into pockets and me fumbling for my wallet. I came up with the pack of cigarettes instead.

Naruto made a face. "Suicide in a box." He commented. "You're not planning on _bartering _for our food, are you?"

I laugh dryly and he looks at me strangely. "I'm getting my wallet." I sneer, and he rolls his eyes.

"Stupid Sasuke. That's in your _other _pocket."

I laugh now, frigid as ever. "What, you marking me up for a pocket job?"

He looks annoyed at the assumption, and we wait in line with our uncomfortable silence. Occasionally, I'll sip my putrid coffee, listening to the conversations around us…those useless fools who couldn't care _less _about who hears them. Such petty talk is beneath me, but they should care more about the face they show to the public.

My own mother taught me that…long before my father reprimanded me publicly for the very childish behavior she warned against. As a result, those people who attended our family reunion always thought of me as a senseless fool with a charming—_childish—_disposition…

'_Sasuke,' _my mother had said. _'Don't talk of family matters where you can be easily overheard, dearest. Those things are meant to stay _in the family. _Please do your best to remember that…'_

_Only_ eight. After _only_ a few weeks, I should have remembered that _family _reunions aren't meant as gossip grounds.

And then, _'Dear, he couldn't remember for that long…it wasn't even an important matter! He's only eight years old—'_

'_Sasuke. I trust next time, you'll keep your silence?' Father reprimands._

_I nodded quietly, and my brother puts his hand on my shoulder. He doesn't smile. _

'_There's a good boy. Just watch after your brother, Itachi. Make certain he doesn't do anything _shameful.'

...shameful...

Most children don't know the meaning of the word.

Most.

I glance at Naruto with suspicion and glower forebodingly. The blond, preoccupied with choosing the best of delicacies off the menu, didn't notice. I smolder quietly. _Something _about the kid makes me _remember _things.

Things I'd rather forget.

The second order of coffee, I find, was due only after an excruciatingly long wait in line. Fortunately or not, I was cold enough to finish the previous cup. I order black tea and Naruto another mocha with cinnamon rolls for two and a sandwich—presumably to share. I wordlessly swipe my debit card and punched the credit option.

Knowing how hasty my newfound companion had proved himself to be, I ask leisurely, "Can you send the rolls with the drinks?" the girl, barely into high school, if my guess serves me right, blushes furiously at my request. I smile coolly. With one hand, I push a strand of hair out of my eyes and let the smile widen—just a bit.

She stammers a bit, and nods, breathless.

Behind her, an older cashier rolls his eyes, and shoves a plate—the sandwich—forward. I nod my thanks and sign the slip of receipt. Carefully folded, the yellow copy is preserved in my pocket. By this time, I notice, Naruto is half-flirting with the older boy fixing our drinks.

"Add a little cream to the black, would ya?" he's asking. "Sweeten up the nasty stuff—" I shove the plate into his hands and he yelps with surprise and winks at the boy. "It's awfully bitter alone, ya know?" and the young man laughs. Dark skin, hair and eyes, he compliments Naruto's gentle tan and golden hair beautifully. I find myself scowling at the two.

"Why _are_ you here?" I ask, ignoring the cashier. Let the fool talk of personal issues _here _if he so chooses…

And he smirks at me, motions with his head for me to take the tray of rolls and rinks as he devours the sandwich. "Lookin' for my dream." He grins widely… "How 'bout you?"

My mouth is dry, my body cold. I narrow my gaze and murmur, "…my dream isn't here."

He looks at me strangely, and we're almost to the table. "Maybe," he notes, "You aren't—"

"It's in the"

dark.

past.

nightmares.

"part of the world I can't reach." I smile. Cold. "My _purpose_…

"Well.I don't have one."

He's looking at me in a manner no one's showed since—

Before.

"Uh-huh…" he's smiling gently now, and fiddling with his hat in one hand…the sandwich he finished a good minute before. "Come on, share that armchair with me? Our table's already been filled." He gestured towards a squishy green chair. Its matching neighbor was occupied with a pair of squabbling middle school kids, with their parents standing off in line behind us, by the looks of it.

Sitting. _With_ the idiot boy who's most likely crushing on me.

"No. I'll stand." Naruto pouted at me, and walked over anyways. His expression clouded for a minute, and I knew something was up. He smiled liquidly at me, and his eyes twinkled. "Here, let me hold your cup," his voice, normally so agitatingly _loud, _turned sweet and smooth…pleasing, really.

How suspicious.

I glower. "No. I'm not—"

But his nimble hands've grabbed the styrofoam cups and he's launched in the opposite direction. "Ooooh, which of these is mine…?" an innocent little question that caused the surrounding people to giggle behind open palms.

I tread forward reluctantly. Hesitantly. "Naruto, quit it—"

But even with his hands busy, he's not a complete ditz. So I wasn't prepared for him to tumble towards me _with_ two full drinks in tow. Laughter sparkled in his voice as he called out musically, "Oh _no, _I'm _fall_ing…!"

And so he pushed me down, tray and all, into the overstuffed chair, and thusly pinned me down by sitting on my legs. I couldn't help but notice the surrounding people's laughter, and I felt a flush cover my face.

…now they'd _all _assume we're…

…together…

"Bitch." I mumble, still red.

He laughs cheerfully and winks. "Ho." He leans in so our faces are barely two inches apart when he says it, and I can't help but laugh.

Coldly, menacingly. "Idiot…" but he's heard that too many times.

"What am I _doing _here, you asked? Hmm…" he took a sip of the left cup. "Ugh. This is yours…" and a sip of the right. "Mmm…much better." He settled comfortably into the cushion—and me. Finally, he pushed back a little, putting his face closer to mine, too.

Entirely too intimate for my tastes. So I scowl.

"Well," his voice lowers a little, and the people across the table from us are undoubtedly assuming that we're having a conversation better suited for lovers.

…this piece of ass is manipulative as hell…

"I'm _not _from here," he purrs, and snickers at my expression.

"No shit."

His smile's gone now, and the playful, sexual behavior tones down a little. A serious conversation, now, by looks of it. Everyone around us turns their ears in, and listens for a word, a snatch of our lives.

I know why my mother told me to keep my silence.

Nobody should have to endure those _eyes. _

"I grew up in a fuck-ass little town where everyone knows everyone else's shit." I rescue a hand from behind his back, and take my tea from him. It's hard to believe that anyone can be _trusting _enough to tell a stranger off the street such a…

…personal…

…story about themselves.

What a fool I've found.

"Nobody listens, though, so whatever the fuck you do, it's all _there _but no one ever _listens…_they just hear what they want, only what they _want _and…" he takes a shuddering breath and almost drowns himself with coffee. I pat his back when he leans forward, and he coughs a little.

He stays in that position a little longer than necessary, and it occurs to me that our image as a 'couple' has been solidified in every passerbyer's eyes.

I remove my hand as he leans up. "Fuck, I'm dizzy now…" and he leans against my retreating hand, capturing it there. I try and twist it out, and he moans quietly. "Oh, don't quit that…my back's really sore." He gestures with his free hand, moving his entire palm in a roundabout circle. "Like that. That feels good."

…_idiot…_

"I never knew my parents." He said it so quickly, so suddenly that I almost lost the train of thought. "I grew up between foster families, moving in and out of one home after another so that every. Fucking. Family had _me _before I was eighteen."

He laughed dryly, and for a second he sounded like me. "They used to _joke _about it, sometimes, sayin' shit like, 'you'll have the monster next, if you're not careful!' Like taking care of a _kid_'s supposed ta be punishment or somethin'…and if someone broke a particularly nasty rule, they'd be _stuck _with me for a good month or two before the mayor or someone decided, 'enough's enough. Next, please…'" he took a sip of coffee, and put a piece of cinnamon bun in his mouth to chew thoughtfully.

"I think it must've been in my parents' will or something, 'cause I wasn't ever sent _out _of our little town."

He made a face. "God, this's really sweet…try some." He tore off a sliver and dangled it in front of my mouth.

I winced away from it and waved it away. "No…I don't _like _sweets…"

He blinked. "Then why'd you order two…?" a puzzled, childlike expression overtook his engaging face.

I laughed, and rubbed a quick circle in his back. He purred audibly. "I thought you might want to take it home." I murmured quietly…

He chortles, rich and full… "In _this _fuckin' weather? Shit, I'd be lucky if it even _looked _like a bun, by then!" he giggled. "It'd be nothin' but goo…"

I had to grin back. He sounded like a real kid…

"So, um, I eventually turned eighteen. I didn't run away—not for lack a tryin', though—and they gave me a small amount of money from the state…ta keep me goin' ya know…so they wouldn't have ta feel bad if I wound up on the street after awhile. 'cause, ya know, most kids do _fine _on their own…if they've got parents to pay for their bills when they're hard up, or to pay bail…"

He trailed off, and I took advantage of his lapse to take a drink. "Too bad for you…"

In a moment's notice, his sad, reflective expression changed to one of annoyance and rage. "You fuck, don't even _go _there—"

"Go where? _No one _has a perfect life, brat."

"So, anyways, I'm _telling _you about me, so you'd better listen…" he choked on his drink again, but I didn't bother patting his back. It took considerably less time for him to regain his breath. "I moved here, 'cause I think there's more opportunity here—"

I snort. He ignores me.

"—so, here I am…workin' as a shitty magazine vender…" he laughed dryly, and smiles a little. "I managed to make the _huge_" his voice is so dry here, I can almost taste the sarcasm, "amount of money my _benefactors _gifted me with last for a good while. But…there's only so much a guy can make on part time commission, and _fuck, _money goes _quick _with utilities an' shit…"

He ran his hands through his hair, and smiled ruefully. "The lease on my apartment ran out a few days ago."

Ah, we come to the _reason _he's been bothering me…I look at him accusingly, but he's busying himself with a piece of the cinnamon roll. I can't imagine how he'd still be hungry…

He clears his throat, and smiles a little. "So I've been hopping houses again," he laughed. "Just like when I was a kid…" his smile flickers, and I wonder how it can be that bad. At least he had somewhere to go… "You know, Mary? The girl who let us in. She put me up for a day, helped me get some of my stuff from my apartment an' shit. But her parents, _god, _they don't want their girl stayin' with a guy outta high school, especially if he shows up with next to no clothes and absolutely _no _cash.

"I mean, they're worse than _lotsa _folks from m' ol' town, askin' about shitty stuff like jobs and future plans, and they take _one _look at me and my face and decide that yeah, their daughter can't hang with a nobody like me. So 'fore breakfast's even over, I'm out the door again…"

I smile at him, somewhat, and he softens a little. "You'll find something to do." I say gruffly.

An annoyed spark lights in his eyes. "Hey, _your _place's gotta be short on people, with how _late _you were," malicious, this brat. "Why don't you get me a job?"

"They wouldn't hire trash like you." I say stiffly, and he sputters. I nearly get coffee on my drying shirt.

While he's still wiping his mouth, he starts to talk. Just like the bitch he _is_. "Ya could be a little more _sympathetic, _you know…"

I'm pushing him forward, though, pushing him out of my way. "I bought you dinner. Now get the _hell _out of my face." So he's got no choice but to move or fall backwards—and hit his head against the stone floor—so he scrambles quicker than before.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him wrap the cinnamon roll in the ad from the tray. Saw him clutch it close to his body and hesitate, just a moment.

He brought me _through _this mall, I can get myself out. Show me something once, and I've _got it _forever.

Just like my brother.

Just like

_he_

—who wants only

for someone—

_dies_.

The whirl of people around me thins as I make my way to the clothing shop, and it grows weak as smoke as I pass through the _employees only _entrance without

looking back

for him. The dark and stormy clouds pour rain down, I can hear it, and the winds are screaming their howls, not just spreading them. I pull on my jacket, listen for his running feet, but he's turned, headed for the old couch, like before.

He's left the roll on the table, by the magazine of reputable content, but I'm out the door. My feet pound through the water, and I feel safe for a blessed instant.

Nobody will be here, in this kind of weather.

Most people have gone indoors, sheltered themselves away from the elements that should damn well kill them.

I would prefer that it _did_.

"_Fuck you, _Uchiha!" he's yelling, and I realize my peace has been shattered again by

bright eyes

and tilted smiles. _"Get back here!"_ his words, so meaningless to me, are nothing but sounds through the rain.

For a bitch, he runs pretty quick in rough elements. I have to wonder if he's had experience.

His footsteps are loud in my ears, nothing but a thunderous tap and scream against pouring water. And he's covered by thick lightning, in my eyes, trained _only _for the light that will never touch him.

Brother saying, _'Sasuke, you are _only_ for the dark. Run as far as your feet will take you, but I know where you'll wait. _

"_Stay for me._

"_Live for _me, _and give me your undying love and_

"_fear._

"_Your genius" _oh how he loves that word _"is not for this world._

"_It's for mine."_

Damn him, damn them, damn my _fucking_ body.

As the thunder shakes our street and fills my heart with dread, I feel tight pressure around my chest, warmth and strength in an embrace I imagine only the

moon

can give. I start, nearly throw him from me, but the weight is more than I expected.

"You fucking disap_point_ me, brat…" he's saying. "We were getting _dry, _damn it…"

And I laugh. And laugh, and laugh. "You're _curious_." I accuse.

He looks at me funny, and that crooked smile is weighed down by so much rain. "So?"

I laugh at him, laugh like the

sun

I am. I'm talking to fill the silence. "You're only here to _hear _it. You want to know why I'm so fucked up, right?"

His wordless reply

appears

in the way of a tight squeeze, a warm hug that for a minute dispels the cold around me.

I'm still laughing, but I start to walk. I take his hand with my ink-stained one, and swing it gently through the water.

"Now, golden whore, it is ever best to smile;  
what I speak will be forgot, upon the 'morrow,"  
my voice is quiet and strong, so we slow while  
his breath catches in that oh-so sweet sorrow,  
that which _he_ should never have let to die.  
'_Lest sweet mother  
catch my  
eye.'_  
When was it, suppose, that a single, ever-truer  
word was spoken by my beloved brother?

"My mother fucked my brother  
long before I knew to smile.  
This has never brought a truer  
consequence 'fore the 'morrow.  
The lilt-like seam spreads to my eye,  
and this unspoken, unknown hate, while  
—to that which is my  
unending, unbound sorrow—  
our father is one and the same. Husband to our mother.  
I wanted him to die."

"But just as you, Gold, refuse to ever _die,_  
with incessant chatter 'fore the 'morrow,  
_He _would not do the job that any truer  
man—such a man that my sweet mother  
should have wed, in her youth. While  
you think you know, whore, when my brother  
or the thing that I may sometimes call my  
Itachi—you think you know sorrow,  
With your oh-so engaging smile  
And your oh-so pale, brilliant eye."

The hugeness of a city never dawns

on one

until darkness falls, and only the beating of your

heart

can be heard.

"My brother tells tales, with pain in his eye  
And there is not a word in his head that mother  
can hear, but I can see each _word _through sorrow  
blood and madness—from black night 'till 'morrorw.  
No one _else _can see my brother's blackened orbs die  
with red drops and all and who knows that only my  
eye  
when compared to those of my forsaken brother  
and his damning smile…  
My eye was never _truer_.

"But what kind of fool would listen to a truth truer  
than what every fool and All can see? For all the while  
that gentle walk, that gentle smile,  
she, soft of curve and of speech 'till 'morrow,  
never ends and she never lifted her hand to die  
or to live. She—my  
never chiding, ever-sweet mother—  
was against my father and his all-seeing eye.  
He darkened her face—as _others _darkened yours, right? Brother,  
you oh-so bright and brilliant eyed bitch of sorrow?

"You look so pale, beloved Sorrow  
King. Has the wind taken your soul while  
you listen to a truer  
Tale than ever has been told? Eye  
for eye, you will _die_  
for death. They, my brother  
and the children, are taught wrong from 'morrow  
'till dusk (or is it reversed?). Smile,  
whore, the guileless sing their mother  
praise 'fore they hurt. My,

"In my dreams  
The blood is still red."

He swallows, and looks to interject, but I say, "My,"  
The dreams of red and madness do _not _die  
all about me, to his sorrow.  
And I hurry past him while  
I wait for the words to engulf me. "Truer  
words. I want with a brilliant smile,  
please, speak them on the 'morrow  
to my ever-seeking, unblinking eye.  
I would so like to hear my brother  
speak his thoughts truly of my mother.

"Before he took the white throat of mother  
_Before _I hear truer  
Men, before his hand reaches into 'morrow  
before they all _die,_  
in front of my reddened, blackened eye  
before I fled his shadow in sorrow  
my  
self in a pool of empty blood without a smile  
(and was it empty, whore? was it truly?) my brother  
Before I came to you, golden bitch,  
Before all this _while._

"Blackened and

"Speechless and

"Full of all that

"hate…

"Before that, monster. All this while  
and before it all, before I die.  
The thought my  
brother leaves me is one. A truer  
Family will desert you. Mine, with precious eye  
has no ties unbroken, sorrow  
's whore. Pride will destroy my  
brother  
and All. Destroyed my mother.  
On the 'morrow,  
keep your golden, gentle smile.

"On the 'morrow, moon-kit, show me the sun's own smile.  
For though sorrow's beast is on the while,  
only the mother must die  
when _my_ gentle eye  
turns away from brother." I've not spoken words truer.

I smile into 'morrow, while sorrow must die.  
Mother, dead, my eye, truer now, than Brother.

Smile, brother…

…smile…

The words leave me then, and I'm alone as I haven't been in a long while. My heart feels so empty, so full of regret, and he just stares at me with wide eyes.

"I want a cigarette…" I mumble, and he stares at me some more.

"…shit…" he murmurs, and rubs a wet hand through dripping hair.

I roll my eyes. "You can go home, now. Go back to your friends and would-be family.

"You don't want to know me."

'_And the world will flee your footsteps as only _I _will trace them…' _he promised.

A sputter, and a shaky laugh. "Fuck you, asshole…" he mumbled, but I could hear him perfectly. It's only to be expected, really. You can't tell people stories like my shit and hope for them to _stay. _"You have _no fucking right _to tell me what I want!"

So he takes my hand, my ink stained hand, and pulls it up, pulls me back and holds me close.

Our lips meet for an instant, numbing me and filling _me _with him and his taste.

Sweet.

The fucking _idiot._

"You don't know me." I return, and he laughs some more.

Winks. "No shit, Sherlock." And I can tell his breath is still uneven, still shaken. "But you don't know _me,_ either, and my life ain't a basket of roses…"

He left things unsaid, then?

The expression of a perfect bitch.

"_Your past is no worse than mine." _he declares, and smiles unevenly. "And I, for one, am willing to be your…uh, friend." He pauses. "Take the sun…if you can," he wipes his lips self-consciously. "And I'll sure as hell—"

"You can stay with me."

Let him die like the rest of them, if he's stupid enough.

And if he doesn't…

"You shittin' me?"

"No."

Bright laughter, bright eyes, bright

pain.

"You don't do anything half-assed, do you?" Naruto mutters, and pulls me closer. "You ain't gettin' away from me, Sasuke."

It's a while before I have my next cigarette…and the first thing I do is blow the putrid smoke in his face.

He deserves it, for bringing me _home_.

Bringing me back to where old ghosts linger, and back to find both of us with damn awful colds.

He deserves…

everything

I can give him…smoke to hide the lies, food to hide the emptiness, company to hide the pain. And news to fill his ears of stories that don't fucking matter.

The past is the past.

Where my dreams are.

…but maybe, just maybe…

There's a kid who can help me find them.

**

* * *

end **

End note: I really think this one's done. Honestly. But, what do you think...? Good, bad, somewhere in between? What do you think of Sasuke/Naruto's pasts? Their characters? Reactions?

...just curious about how it turned out...

Also, thank you all for the wonderful reviews! They all made me grin, and wish I had an idea to further this...but, yeah. Thanks for the great encouragement!


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